


World Weary

by SydneyMo



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 12:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13213428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyMo/pseuds/SydneyMo
Summary: In which the weight of the world becomes a bit too much for our dear East German mechanic.





	World Weary

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to add this in my Adventures of UNCLE fic but this is much more angsty than the other chapters so it works better as a stand alone. Written at 2am with no beta so all mistakes are my own.

Screaming isn’t enough. A punch thrown, a blow landed, and yet the anger still consumes her. She tries, lord has she tried, but the world continues to chew people up and spit them out. 

A vase shatters against a window. She’s oblivious to the glass beneath her feet, her fingers clenching into fists over and over again until her palms sting and her nails turn red, her throat raw from shrieking. 

It feels as though her heart will break out of her rib cage, it’s pace thundering alongside the pounding of her record player, drowning out the sound of her agony. UNCLE can pay for the damage, they had dealt with Red Mists before. Though nothing compares to her heartfelt wrath. 

Gaby rips the stuffing from a decorative pillow but it feels too easy, the cotton-polyester blend too soft. A lamp is next, thrown against a wall with a crash, sparks falling around the pottery base. With each broken object she swears she’ll feel better but the damage only feeds her rage.  
She thought the war was the end of it, but then came another. Cold, they called it, yet there wasn’t a single person on either side who didn’t feel the blood red heat of the devil breathing down their neck. 

The mirror was too heavy to throw, too large to remove from its spot in the wallpapered room. She whirled about, looking for something, anything, to smash it with. It was only then she noticed her Russian in the corner of the room. He stood, silent, allowing her to destroy whatever she laid her hands on including himself if she so chose. He knew this feeling well, but there was no way to sate it once it had taken hold. It must run its course. 

The tears running down her face were hot, though she couldn’t tell you when she began to sob. It was a blur of hatred and self-loathing, the thoughts consuming her mind and heart and lusting for more. It bubbled out in screams and violence, unsatisfied with the blood she had already drawn, the damage she had done to her surroundings. 

He approached her then, slowly, never taking his eyes off her shaking frame. Gaby stared at him, wild eyed and desperate. She didn’t want to be touched and yet she craved the safety of his arms, the soothing coolness of his cheek against her own. 

Illya stood in front of her, ignoring the sound of glass and pottery crunching beneath him. He placed one arm on her back, the other under her legs, scooping her into his arms. She punched at his chest, wails of a pain he knew too well racking her small body. He let her; it wasn’t him she wanted to hurt. It wasn’t him that the world had seen fit to abuse that night. 

They retreated to a corner of the hotel room, one lone survivor of Gaby’s emotional hurricane. He sat them down, rocking her back and forth and whispering in his mother tongue. The words themselves didn’t matter, she was in no state of mind to register their meaning in any case. But the feel of his breath on her head, a reminder of a heart still beating and hands still fighting for good, trickled its way down to her understanding. 

He soothed. She sobbed. Two outcasts in a dying world. The sun began to rise outside the window, bathing the room in a warm, pink hue. There was still work to be done, still a war to fight no matter what papers were signed. But for now, the strong arms holding her close and the promise of solace in the chaos- that was enough.


End file.
